Bed of Roses Page 0,95

And some just can't deal with the fact that there are certain needs they can't meet."

He took a long drink. "Okay, I don't know whether to be scared or fascinated."

"I once asked a man I was seeing to join me one evening for this particular activity. He wasn't ready for it. I've never asked another."

"Does it involve tools? I'm good with tools."

She shook her head and strolled over to top off her glass, then held up the bottle in invitation.

"What I do is . . ." She poured bubbling wine into his glass. "First, I'll take a big glass of wine up to my bedroom, then I'll light candles. I'll put on something soft and comfortable, something that makes me feel relaxed. Feel . . . female. Then I get into bed with all the pillows arranged just so, because I'm about to take a journey just for myself. And when I'm ready . . . When I'm just sinking in . . . I watch my DVD of Truly, Madly, Deeply ."

"You watch porn?"

"It's not porn." Laughing, she gave his arm a quick slap. "It's an amazing love story. Juliet Stevenson is devastated when the man she loves, Alan Rickman, dies. She's overwhelmed with grief. Oh, it's painful to watch." Eyes radiating emotion, she laid a hand just under her throat. "I cry buckets. Then he comes back as a ghost. He loves her so much. It rips your heart out, and it makes you laugh."

"Rips out your heart and makes you laugh?"

"Yes. Men never get that. I'm not going to tell you the whole thing, just that it's wrenching and charming and sad and affirming. It's unspeakably romantic."

"And that's what you do, secretly, in your bed at night, when you're alone."

"It is. Hundreds of times. I've had to replace the DVD twice."

Obviously baffled, he studied her as he drank champagne. "A dead guy's romantic?"

"Hello? Alan Rickman. And yes, in this case, it's wonderfully romantic. After I watch it - and finish crying - I sleep like a baby."

"What about Die Hard ? He's in Die Hard . Now that's a movie you can watch a hundred times. Maybe we should do a double feature some time. If you can handle that."

"Yippee-ki-yay."

He grinned at her. "Pick a night next week, and you're on. But there has to be popcorn. You can't watch Die Hard without popcorn."

"Fair enough. Then we'll see what you're made of." She brushed her lips to his. "I'm going to change. It won't take me long. Maybe you should bring the champagne into the bedroom."

"Maybe I should."

In the bedroom he took off his jacket and tie, and thought about her. Thought about the surprises and facets and layers of her.

It was odd, really, to think you knew someone inside and out, and discover there was more to learn. And the more you learned the more you wanted to know.

On impulse, he took the rose from the vase and laid it on a pillow. When she stepped out into the candlelight, he lost his breath. Black hair tumbling over white silk, smooth skin gold against white lace. And those eyes, he thought, deep and dark, looking into his.

"You said something about dream date," he managed.

"I wanted to do my part."

The silk flowed over her curves as she walked to him, and as she lifted her arms to wind them around his neck in a way that was so essentially Emma, her scent shimmered in the air like the candlelight.

"Did I thank you for dinner?"

"You did."

"Well . . ." She scraped her teeth over his bottom lip - lightly, lightly - before the kiss. "Thanks again. And the champagne? Did I thank you for that?"

"As I recall."

"Just in case." On a sigh her mouth met his. "And the candlelight, the rose, the long walk, the view." Her body moved against his, leading him into a slow, circling dance.

"You're welcome."

He drew her in, closer still, so her body pressed to his. Time spun out as they circled, as mouth clung to mouth, as heart beat to heart.

She drew in his scent, his flavor. So familiar and still so new. Her fingers trailed up into hair bronzed and gilded by the sun, then curled, tugged to bring him just a little closer. They slid down together onto smooth white sheets, and into the perfume of a single red rose. More sighs now, more dreamy movements. A caress, a tender touch, shimmered over her skin. She stroked his face, opened -